


Syncopated

by spacemutineer



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cardiophilia, Heartbeat Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Medical, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-24
Updated: 2011-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-16 19:57:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemutineer/pseuds/spacemutineer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes steals Watson's stethoscope but doesn't quite get what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Syncopated

**Author's Note:**

> Slash is all new to me, so I am nervous to unveil this. Here we go.

It was an experiment at first. A venture of science, induced by a need to qualify the effects of various stimulant poisons for a monograph on the matter. He would be his own test subject, of course. He did however require a particular tool that a certain doctor would be unlikely to allow for this purpose. Indeed, the experiment itself was likely to be quashed entirely if said doctor were to manage to discover it, so the acquisition of the instrument was conducted under the strictest secrecy and stealth.

When it was done, Holmes found himself alone in his room with a set of glass bottles containing various noxious chemicals and Watson's stethoscope, a device as sturdy and trustworthy as the man himself. It felt heavy in his hands, heavier than it looked, to be sure. The last time he had laid eyes upon it, he had been half-delirious from fever. Watson had walked into Holmes' room with it slung around his neck, concern written darkly across his features.

***

He was Doctor Watson then, a man of matching competence and compassion, who wielded his hands as surgical instruments. They were as capable as they were gentle while he administered to the pitiful form before him. The doctor made sure to warm the smooth ebony bell of his stethoscope in those hands before he carefully placed it onto Holmes' flushed bare chest and closed his eyes to listen. Judging by the pinched brow and sharp inhalation, he was disquieted by what he heard.

Undoubtedly the heartbeat to which he was so keenly listening was much too fast. How much of that could be attributed to fever and how much to the delicate sensation of Watson's fingers on Holmes' skin remains unknown. The doctor himself of course attributed it fully to the fever. He strung the instrument back around his stout neck, softly brushed Holmes' hair away from his forehead to apply another cool compress, and settled into his chair next to the bed for the night. The doctor was ever vigilant.

***

Alone in his room, Holmes fluidly unbuttoned his crisp white shirt and stripped bare to the waist in preparation for his experiment. He carefully prepared a draught of the first poison --two grains only, not three!-- then turned to retrieve Watson's stethoscope for a baseline reading before he began. It felt somewhat strange for him to put it on and press it against his chest without the doctor there. It seemed as though it could not possibly work without Watson's hands to hold it.

But work it did, and Holmes concentrated intently on the repeating sound of his own heart. It held a distinctly faster rhythm than he had anticipated. He could hardly expect accurate results with a baseline such as this, he was loathe to admit to himself. Nothing could be done until this was remedied. Holmes lay down on the bed, closed his eyes, steadied his breathing and listened carefully for the drop in his pulse.

In that still moment, he realized his problem. He was, in fact, quite hard, his cock jumping in his wool trousers in time with the heartbeat in his ears. He sniffed. This was rather an inopportune time for such a… physical interruption. Taking a sharp breath, Holmes brusquely unbuttoned his pants and took himself into his right hand, his left remaining on his chest, still holding the ebony bell. At once, he knew precisely why this had happened.

 _The doctor's stethoscope._ That was his mistake. He would have been much better off simply purchasing a stethoscope of his own rather than stealing Watson's. That would have merely been a simple scientific tool, but this, this was almost as if he had purloined a piece of the good doctor's own body itself.

\--A piece you are now pressing quite firmly against your own, Sherlock.-- Holmes winced at the thought, but in his ears his heart thumped yet faster, and he began to stroke himself gently. He ran his thumb across the tip of his member and struggled mightily to suppress a guttural moan. Slowly he began rocking his hips and quickening his breath. As he squeezed his eyes shut to concentrate on the sound of his heart furiously pumping away in his chest, his mind, despite his best intentions, again slipped back into memory.

***

The bricks of the road felt cold beneath him but were warming rapidly from the blood seeping out of the stab wound in Holmes' side. He stared dreamily into the black sky and distant stars. If time were actually passing, it would have been quite difficult to tell. At once, the doctor seemed to materialize next to him, condensed into reality from the fog of night. He said something then, instructions perhaps as he tore into Holmes' shirt with his pocket knife, revealing the mess underneath. Watson's eyes widened into a flash of fear but the look of serious intent on his face never wavered. The doctor was at work.

Gauze was laid onto the wound and Holmes' hand firmly pressed over to hold it. Watson's palm felt hot and damp. Some other instructions were given, presumably about maintaining pressure while the doctor extracted his stethoscope from his bag. He put the earpieces in with one set of fingers while the others nimbly unbuttoned the remains of Holmes' shirt to expose his trembling chest. The doctor brought the solid wooden bell down onto it and moved to several locations in succession. His eyes drifted onto the bricks and he froze as he focused on the sound for the space of several bated breaths. At last, satisfied, he exhaled and released a degree of the tension in his shoulders. Watson smiled down softly, wrapped the earpieces of the stethoscope around his throat and covered Holmes' hand again with his own to increase the pressure.

***

It was impossible to stay silent any longer. Holmes expelled a wordless grunt and sucked another jagged breath in. The gasping had nearly fully drowned out the sound of his frenzied heartbeats through the stethoscope. He had been stroking himself in rhythm with them, but that was out of the question now. He set an alternate pace in their stead, gradually speeding up the motion, then abruptly slowing it again. That rhythm became almost a heartbeat of its own, each one pulling him ever closer to his break.

His thoughts were filled with Doctor Watson. Watson at his side. Watson, loyal and true. Watson, the gentleman, who conducts himself with such care and grace it makes Holmes’ breath catch in his chest. Watson, the good doctor, a skilled medic whose hands and tools are always ready at a moment’s notice for any situation one might conceive. As he passed his point of no return, Holmes tried to imagine what Doctor Watson would see in his mind’s eye if he were listening through his stethoscope at that moment.

His body stiffened, then shuddered violently and he cried out as he spilled himself over his hand. The sound of his own pounding heart was thundering in his ears. In his mind, Holmes could see muscles contracting, valves closing, blood rushing in an orchestrated, syncopated symphony of life and passion and excitement. And love.


End file.
